My beautiful wife of fifteen glorious years passed away in a senseless car accident. With her passing came a mass of funeral bills and debts racked up from her failed jazzercise business. I was beside myself and spent many nights staring down from the 4th Ave Bridge, trying to work up the nerve to jump.

Then came that fateful night. I resolved then and there to jump, to take the plunge and leave this wretched world forever. As I stood on the ledge staring down at oblivion, I heard a shout.

"Hey, Amigo! Come down from there and have a taco!"

I turned and there was a roadside taco truck on the bridge, no more than twenty feet away. I had no idea how it got there or how I hadn't notice it before. I climbed down, surprised and confused, and approached it.

Before I could even look at the menu placard, Miguel handed me a taco and a handful of napkins. Normally I have to ask for extra napkins, but somehow he just knew. He smiled and said, "It's very good. You like it."

I smiled and went to eat the taco while staring out at the river down below. It was quite possibly the best taco I ever had, and for the first time ever, I didn't need the extra napkins. I turned back toward the taco truck planning to get another, but it was gone.

I go back to that bridge every night hoping to see Miguel's friendly face again, but he's nowhere to be found. If anyone has any idea where Miguel is please e-mail me at tparts22 at nwjazzercise dot com. I don't want to die anymore. Miguel has given me purpose and hope. I won't rest until I find him again.

(5 stars)Miguel's is the ultimate high! Posted by deestar7 [Read other reviews by deestar7]

I spent 3 years on the streets as an addict, chasing any and every high I could. My body was about to break and my mind was pure sludge. I looked and smelled like garbage and that's how people treated me. In that kind of state of mind you do stupid things, and so one day I shot up with everything I could get my hands on.

I was pretty much a goner for sure, I thought. But then an angel visited me.

"Hey Amigo! Hey Amigo!" shouted a booming voice out of nowhere, like some kind of god with a million mouths. "What, man?" I asked, trying to make sense of the shape in front of me. He looked like glowing energy but I think he was Mexican and had a taco truck. It was hard to be sure since it was like there were demons all around me.

"Have a taco! You like Miguel's tacos!" he said. I think I said "okay" and then suddenly I had this taco in my hand. "This is a key," I remember thinking. I couldn't tell what happened to the taco man, because I was busy flying through the clouds after eating the taco. It was like my mind left my body and went through the cosmos and everything else just kind of faded away because it didn't matter anymore. It really didn't matter.

The next day I woke up for the first time in my life, feeling better than I ever felt before. All those drugs did nothing for me and I didn't want them anymore. The ultimate high came from Miguel's tacos, and I've dedicated my life to trying to find Miguel so I can experience that rush one more time. Baptize me anew, Miguel!

There was I, lost in the Mojave without a drop of water to my name. Food was scarce, so was energy. Morale was nowhere to be found. Even with death an undeniable certainty, still I endeavored to die fighting. My legs had ceased to support me, and so I crawled through the burning desert sands while the sun above boiled the flesh of my exposed back.

I crawled for hours, moving from one hallucination to the next, each one more brazen in its false promises of rescue and respite. Finally, after the torment became unbearable, I rolled over on my back, took one last look at my legs, one broken with bone exposed, and resigned to die. My eyes fixed on the yellow circle above and a wave of pain washed over my body.

"Amigo! Amigo, have a taco!" said an urgent voice that grew closer with each syllable. I struggled to move my neck in the direction of the voice. As my vision slowly came into focus, I saw my salvation. There was Miguel's Taco Express truck! He walked over to me and handed me a taco and a glass of lemonade, then set the bone and constructed a rudimentary splint. I didn't even feel the pain of the bone being set, because I was lost in the taco's deliciousness. I don't even like Mexican food, but this… this one beyond anything I had ever eaten before.

Everything was a glorious blur after that. My next memory saw me on a helicopter with rescue workers telling me my survival was a miracle. The real miracle was Miguel. I left the Mojave behind, but the real world is no better. It is just one more wasteland, and the only rescue is Miguel's Taco Express. I will find it again even if it takes me the rest of my life.